Wishing for Sanity
by Jade Marquise
Summary: This is going to be a story told from different chars (how original) while they wait in a hospital and the events that lead up to their being there; 3+11(Une), 4+D, 5+S, 6+9,H+1.. more shall be revealed... if I get enough reviews
1. Wishing for Sanity

Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all. Just the story – duh.  
  
Pairings: 3+11(Une), 4+D, 5+S, 6+9,H+1  
  
Wishing for Sanity  
  
Maybe I should have done something to stop this, maybe it's best the situation got so out of hand. Heh, maybe I should back up again eh? Well… it started about three years ago, with the beginning of the one-year war. Hmm… yeah… I really believed that things would be better after that. And they were… for a while. I was in a really awkward stage when the Mariema Incident began, was in the middle of and finished. I never understood what happened. Just fought. Is that all I ever do? Fight? I don't know. I don't think I want to any more. It's like there's this ache in my heart, everyday, every time I look in the mirror, every time I'm with the other's, every time that I'm with her. I just don't think that I can handle this much any more. Don't think I can hack much more. Can't take it.  
  
Ha, I can just imagine the reactions of the others. From Wufei's 'You're unbelievably weak I never want to have anything to do with you' to the opposite of Duo's 'Ha so 'IT' has emotions!' I should care. I'm too tired to care. Too much has happened. Too much. My eyes are already stinging again, with tears I refuse to let fall. Because I have too much strength? Is that the reason that they're held so well back? On the other hand, is it because I am too weak? Too weak to let them fall. Too weak to mourn. Too weak to greet them all. Yet too strong, to fall.  
  
The pain is unbelievable. I don't think that any should carry a burden akin to mine. I don't think that I would wish this fate on any other. Don't think I would want anyone else to have had the life I've had. Yet, … by the same token, I don't want it. I don't want to get up every morning. Don't want to put on my mask. Don't want to revisit friends. Don't want to use my strength to hide how I'm feeling.  
  
Oh, I feel all right. It's because I feel too much that I wear this mask… this mask to hide the horrors. To hide the nightmares. To hide the scars. To hide the tears. To hide it all. To only portray the happy side of how I'm feeling. I'm getting much better at that. I believe that the others believe that I'm opening up a lot more. Ha. Fat chance. I guess, maybe I am. Maybe some day I will tell them all of my secrets and depressions and desperation's and share with them all that plagues me. I know that I've had the roughest past of them all. I know that I've the hardest burden to bare. Yet, I am not allowed to share it. I am not allowed to lessen the pain. I am not allowed to take a panadol, an aspirin, to miss a day off work. I have to parade around this little charade that I perhaps have been keeping up for far too long.  
  
I do not want it to continue. I do not want to take it off. I do not know what's in my heart. Don't know how to get it off. With others. With others, my mask is stuck as if it were placed there with superglue. I can't even budge it. It has changed over these past three years. Changed very much so. I used to be so cold and insensitive to try to hide the pain. The anger. The heartache. However, most of all to hide the tears. Am I ashamed of them? I suppose you could say that. And yet for some odd reason I remain proud that they're there. I guess it's proof that I'm human. Proof that I'm not what everyone expects me to be. Proof that I'm not an angel. Proof I've made mistakes, have flaws, get angry… have tears.  
  
Maybe I'm just delusional. Maybe that isn't the way to look at things but I've been around the other's too long to loose their trust. Their friendship. Their faith in me. I can't loose it. Can't. Ever. That would be too much to take. Far too much. And yet. I know. That one day, when the truth comes out. Some will go. Some will stay. Nevertheless, most. Most will go. Of that, I have no doubt. Maybe the closest ones will stay. Trowa, Wufei, Quatre, Zechs, Noin, Une, Dorothy, Sally, Hilde… they will stay. I know that they will. Yet, I am still afraid to tell this secret that I hold. I am still afraid to let it loose. It will be hard. So hard. And yet. With this third, war this year. The year after the Mariema Incident I know that it will only be a matter of time until what is needed will come.  
  
I will be called upon to make the change. Once again. Always me. I will have to wipe away the tears, or hold them close and shed them later. Get up off my arse and blow the horn. Let the hunt begin. Spur on the troops. Pick up the gun. Rally for happiness. Present them with joy. It gets harder and harder to do so and yet I know that if the strength that I contain within me crumbles then so to will the sanity … or insanity and holds this world together.  
  
I am no pacifist. I am no warrior. I am neither. I am both. I protect others with my mere will. I hurt them with soundless gestures. I can't win the war. Maybe the battles but in the end. I've already lost. The end keeps coming near. And there isn't anything that I can do to stop it. All the heartache. All the lies – wait! I've never lied. Not to them. I have always told them the truth. Ha, seems weird coming from me huh? Sounds too much like Duo? Well, I know for a fact that Duo lies. I know that we all lie. Hell, I lie to myself. I once told myself that it would never boil down to this. I lied to myself telling myself that I could stay where I was. Happy. Content. They were strange emotions to me. But welcome. And I enjoyed them. I loved them.  
  
Then this war came. I don't know how I haven't crumbled yet from the influx of emotions that have spilled down into me. It's like I'm a lake. And the entire world and the people in it are mountains with streams. And all of their streams, containing all their emotions, anger, triumph, greed, lust, love, fear, pain, angst, horror, all pour down into me. Fill me up and keep me there. Unable to leave. Unwilling to do so. Yet wanting to stay. To protect them from what I know. I know that I have no conception as to the inner wars and battles within my heart. I barely understand anything to do with human nature. I seem to. Maybe it's just because I accept it. Just accept it. That has eased my suffering unbelievably so. While all the others cry and mourn, I carry on. Dry the tears and think of a plan of attack. Grab people to do it. Put it into action. Execute it. Give the congratulations to others. It's always been my way. If you could see me. Actually, I'm glad you can't… I can't believe I'm writing this…  
  
  
  
Trowa turned his tearstained eyes from the page and look up at the others. Standing there, in the doorway listening to his quiet sobs. He turned his eyes back to the leather bound book in his lap. Wiping his tears before they leaked onto the book, before they spoiled the evidence of what was written there. The person had been upset when he wrote it – evidence being the crumpled pages, Trowa gathered. No need to further damages to this artefact of the ages.  
  
Carefully Trowa placed the book down on the bed and raised his face to once again greet the ones contained within the doorway. There was no point in smiling. No point in hiding what could so easily be seen. Trowa looked at the figure on the hospital bed. Yet, he had done so. For so long. And now he was dying. Dying of a broken heart. A soul lost to darkness. A mind longing for understanding. A being wanting with all its fibres to be held. Accepted. Loved. And, sick of watching all the sadness, all the suffering, and all the crying in the dark and of comrades trying to hide the tears unbidden he had stopped and taken a breath. Looked around and decided. Decided to do it. And there wasn't anything we could do. Nothing. So hopeless we felt. It was as if the world was on stand-by, standing still, awaiting his return.  
  
Trowa lifted his gaze to watch the others slowly enter. We felt safest together. Together. That's just what he wanted. All of us to be together. Not arguing about injustices, the weather anything. He just wanted us to love the simple things in life. Just like he did. He did not expect us to be like him. Far from it. He just wanted the understanding. The understanding… he never received. Now, … he's gone. To fight our battle. To win our war. To protect those who can not protect themselves. That makes him sound so noble, so brave. And he is. In ways that we never imagined. In ways that he never accepted. Expected. The most innocent among us. Fighting the most bloody of all battles. Our poor baby. He was – is. The baby of the group. No one would have expected that just from looking in. Observing us as though we were fish in a bowl but he was. He was our golden child. And he's gone. To fight a war. That should never have started.  
  
Our child is far from naive. Far from it. Yet, he is our innocent child. Eyes full with unanswered questions. That he never asks us. Never, out of fear of increasing our pain. Therefore, he burdens himself with our grief. He takes away our worries. Makes us feel care free. Our beautiful little baby.  
  
Trowa's eyes wander the room. From the newly-weds of Zechs and Noin, huddled together on the couch. Mmm… that's right. We moved all of the comfortable furniture up to this room. The best couches and chairs. Favoured mattresses and things. Favourite belongings. To make this aching room more like home. Again. It was his idea. Our gentle child, our kind little golden angel – this was his idea. To make US more happy. To take away OUR pain. He never could stand to watch others suffer. He could never stand by and watch people collapse with grief. He had to do something. To make a difference and change the world. And he does. Everyday. Every day that he lives, he makes a difference. I once asked him, why? Why do this? Why do you do everything as if it's the most important thing you will ever do? As if all you do, matters? From the buying of flowers to the selling of cards? He turned; with that little half-smile of his that we have grown so fond of and told me. "I can't take… WE… can't take that chance that it doesn't."  
  
And that's why we're all here. Why, he is there. We are unbelievably lucky that he feels it his duty, his way in life to make ours better. I cannot believe that it was he. We were so cruel to him at first. With that impassive mask he wore. To hide the pain from us. Therefore, we persisted. We made him change although he objected to the changes. So he changed the mask he wore to abide by us. To keep us happy. To fill us with content. Moreover, he has done that. Nevertheless, we want him back. We do not care about his faults. His uncertainties we shall overcome, his fears we will destroy, his loves we will bring out and do as much as possible. We will sit down just once and admire the sunset with him. Sit and watch the flowers grow. And love the simple things in life. Like he does.  
  
Again, Trowa turns from his broodings to look at the others encompassed in this room. His room. Zechs and Noin on the couch. Quietly talking. About what he has no notion. Quatre is quietly consoling Dorothy. They have been dating since Dorothy overcame the death of her grandfather – with a little nudge from our golden seraph. Wufei is by the window. His eyes are unseeing as he eyes everything outside. Yet, he is not looking at the beauty below. He is watching the reflection in the window of our baby. Of our child. Wufei is turning now. He looks at Trowa, both with eyes full of sadness … and grief. Both sets of eyes travel to the figure, cloaked in a shroud of pain and misery, unconscious on the bed. Hilde is sitting beside him – in the only original chair in the room. Gently stroking his hand, his face, talking to him, asking him, begging him to pull through. We don't think that Hilde could live if he didn't. With the discovering of her boyfriend's cheating ways our golden babe has been the tower of strength in her life. Keeping her sane, calm, and talking away her pain –, and helping her overcome him, by starting a new, tentative relationship – with him.  
  
Sally is checking the monitors and machines as per usual. Keeping herself busy to distract her mind, even for a little while, from the tragedy we are not willing to face. Trowa smiles – the emotion behind it unidentifiable – as Wufei walks over and hugs Sally from behind. Yes, those two have become an item. 'Took them long enough' was our babe's comment when Trowa asked him in secret what he thought. Those two do make quite a good pair. 'It's quite scary walking in and having two pairs of onyx eyes glaring at you,' was our babe's comment about an incident where he 'accidentally' walked in on them kissing.  
  
Trowa feels his eyes prick with the beginnings of new tears. And himself? Did he have someone? Someone special to hold him tight? The answer to that question was simple – yes he did. With a little help from a special little cherub he and Lady Une had gotten their act together and become an item. A hand touches his shoulder and he turns to the see the one whom he was just pondering behind him. Sad yet reassuring eyes gazing at him. He leans back onto her. Maybe, just maybe, we will all survive this insanity.  
  
  
  
Should I continue? If I receive enough reviews I will think about it *grins evilly* … anyway … what do you think? Review or I will set mutant wolves after you!!! Heheeh… Next chapter depends now on you. Should I continue? Or should I ditch it? Or leave it as a one-time flick? 


	2. As a Child Walked Forwards...

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything par the story, duh.

Parings Include: well, in this chapter they're not really mentioned.

Note: This chapter can get confusing, read it slowly and carefully and you'll understand it no probs… *grins* now… go read the story… oh and sorry if I offend any with some of my descriptions of two characters by another at the end… but… as I'm sure you will come to find… these words against them are definitely deserved.

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As A Child Walked Forwards

And the gunfire sounded. I don't think that anyone has ever wanted to do what I am to. As old songs ring in my ears I walk forward onto the battlefield. The only weapon my firearm, hidden safely behind my back tucked into my pants. The safety catch off for greater efficiency. It really is surprising that it's never accidentally gone off, considering I carry it everywhere with me. 

The mortar is falling, the shrapnel is flying, and my fears are soaring. Someone once said that perseverance and courage in distress are more than brave armies to procure success. Let us all hope that their great words are correct and that what I am about to undertake is not as foolhardy as it must appear to all I know and more that I don't. 

Buildings are collapsing, the troops are drawing near, our soldiers are dwindling and still the enemy charges on. Their black horses of death are great mobile suits armed and firing at all within their range… and some things that aren't. 

I don't think that one could ever pinpoint the feelings that are within my petrified mind right now, that shake and reverberate through my body, that threaten to bring about my greatest defeat, yet, perhaps my greatest triumph. If one is not prepared to lose greatly, how can one ever achieve greatly? When unsure, be a fool. There is a fine line between being brilliantly creative and the most gigantic idiot on earth, so what the hell, leap. So many words are circulating through me, so much I have wanted to say, so many things I have wanted to do, places to see, people to meet… I can't believe how cliche that sounds but every feeling I have is compounding and battling for dominance, precisely the same way the physical beings before me battle, battle for superiority and victory.

I won't let fear win. Nor will I let the enemy. I WILL defeat this evil. And vanquish all of its baneful face from this great place's beauty. And no more demons will again stalk her surface. This I vow.

Chocolate hair whirling about my face free from the constricting hair tie I had contained it within, its dancing around, drenched in soot, faintly tinted the copper of blood, dust and dirt, physical and fantasy, it all dances about in my hair, as it dances about my face. Holding all of what I have been through in its silky strands. It is like an Egyptian papyrus holding knowledge that no one else will know, the prophecy of a prophet. I hope that the creator grand accounted for the amount of fears I have, and has some way, to counter it.

All of the faces of the victims I have seen, on television, in real life, their screams and their life's energy ebbing away, the children, the mothers, the fathers, uncles and aunts, grandparents and cousins. All of those who have been felled that I have seen and not, I can see, I can feel, I can hear. Their memories, their thoughts, their feelings, their stories, they all seem to become my own, and lend unto my life force. It is as if I was a single athlete in a stadium, with rows of seats that stretched miles upon miles high, and each person, is cheering for me, urging me to continue, with the only thing that they can, the only _way_ they can. With their souls.

Lifting my elfin head, with chiselled features to meet the sights of this hellish arena I continue onwards. Past the bodies, the blood, the bomb craters, and unexploded shells, the death and the disaster. And all it fuels my desire to continue this wayward journey into the jaws of certain doom.

They say that without great fear can there not be great courage. The two virtues walk hand in hand, like chaos and sanity, like light and dark, without one there cannot be the other. Ironic isn't it? And the comparisons continue, that walk hand in hand, for without the atrocity that war creates and is, there cannot be peace, without brutality there cannot be kindness and without battles their cannot be mercy.

The perfect solider is not the one who defeats and conquers all his enemies, living them to rot by the wayside and die as he believes they were destined to do so, but the one who bends down into the gutter from which he has placed them into and offers them mercy. The very ones, who were trying to kill him, the ones he tries to forgive. But without the perfect villain, can there not be this perfect hero.

They say that this hero can save us all, well, I'm not going to stand by and wait. I will plunge on into this darkness, and the light of my faith will guide me and banish all the shadows. I can feel the cool metal of the blood spattered cross beneath my tattered shirt. I must look like a vagabond, a creature of the night, of doomed nights and hellish days, of tortured times and yet, as I stride forward, the perfect military gait that all tease me about striking off across this battered field, I must represent the glimmer of hope that I have been trying to inspire in all who I have met; all the children, the parents, the sisters and the brothers. When it all comes down to it, we are all one family, and not what we are matters, for in Christ we are one. So sue me if I sound like a lecturing book. I just call it as I see it……

* * *

And as the brazen child strode forward, the soldiers fought, the civilians watched, and the world… it waited. As a child walked forward.

* * *

My shoes, I love my shoes, inside my shoes are my feet, my shoes protect them, keep them safe, safe from harm and sharp objects ready and waiting to burst forward and thrust their dangers through the soles of my feet and into them, to damage them and purge them of their ability to walk. I guess, that one of the reasons I like my shoes is that they, in a metaphorical sense, represent myself and what I strive to do perfectly, if the glove fits they say… well… Cinderellas happiness came from a fairy and a pair of glass slippers, I don't need a fairy for instead I have my faith, but I have a pair of shoes, and in them… my feet keep urging me onwards.

* * *

It was if someone had placed all the world into a form of suspended animation, as if everything was moving far slower than normal, the speed of sound seemed to have travelled down from mach one to about one mile a second… in other words… travelling much more slowly that one could imagine.

It was if all the people had suddenly become aged and decrepit from the throes of life's hardships. Like one had placed all beings in water, and they had to struggle through this to reach their destinations.

Many watched the explosions, the shells, the nightmarish scene, as a child walked forward.

* * *

My legs have reached that point where one knows that to reach that destination, to go that distance that they must strive to continue, but they have reached that critical point where their heart isn't quite there and they are unsure if it is worth the effort, the suffering and the pain. Well, the end justifies the means doesn't it? I guess that that would mean that stuffed legs are definitely worth the goal I am trying to obtain. With smoke filled lungs, ash-blackened skin, and blood pouring over the crevices in my body like serpentine streams, I urge my battered being onwards. The result is definitely worth whatever price I am asked to pay the means I am requested to give to achieve it. So onwards I march.

* * *

As the front line draws closer and the troops and bombs nearer a tattered teen walks across the battlefield. He is impervious to the fire he passes, unflinching to the buildings that are falling, the shells and mortar fire exploding, he hears not whispers of this world, but the calling of another, as this child, walks forward.

* * *

And the wind whistles towards me, like a force telling me, pleading with me not to continue on this epic journey. Well, screw it, I've come too far now to fail. I've given up too much to just give up. And besides, it's not in my nature; surrender is what happens when I am released unto death. That is the price of failure, and so be it. For the stakes are high and we are all playing to win, but even the best players, must at some point fall, and allow an, well, the almighty victor to emerge.

I just hope that all this games players are ready to pass the torch unto the people who will lead this new dynasty that I am hoping to create, and if the blood of my life is what is required to cement this new age into being, then that is the price that I must pay for the ultimate peace of all. Yet, as I carry onwards, so too does my fear, and as my resolution grows to continue this through to the end, so too grows my uncertainty. Yet, above and beyond it, yet intimately within it shall I be when the appointed time doeth come. I shall embrace all that has happened and all that is to come, and all that is happening, that past the present and the future, shall I be, if only for heartbeat in time, then that is what it shall be. As I, a child, walk forwards…

* * *

And onwards you did march child, and onwards you did march.

Zechs looked up from the leather-bound that had had Trowa so spellbound and captured within its depths earlier this day. As he watches the others in their meaningless wanderings about the room, all he can do is feel the same pain, the same heartache, as do they.

__

Yes, they did say that a hero could save us. And you were never one to just stand by and await the inevitable. You walked forward and grasped it, and if it was not a future that you wanted, that you did not believe was for the good of all, then as a potter moulds clay so did you shape the future. You are the future, the past, the present. It has always been embodied in you. I believe that all know that you have lived up to your name. Heero. Ironic isn't it? It means single one that sort of thing… and you were always, always did you work alone for the better of all mankind. Our Golden Child. That, is truly what you are.

Zechs' eyes searched the room until they sought the being they so desperately wanted to find. The soft shallow breathing of one in immense torment floated to his ears, along with the whispered encouraging and pleading of one whom he was truly loved by and whom he truly loved, Hilde. Had Heero and Hilde met under different circumstances they probably would have been long since married despite the fact that they, are only merely seventeen. Zechs smiled, they are the perfect pair.

His eyes wandered the room seeking the knowledge that the others were still here and okay. Well, apart from his treasonous sister and that gutter-rat that she announced she loved the same day she announced the war. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Did she really expect to win when the battered and bruised but definitely not broken heart of the man she had cheated on and betrayed in the worse possible way, was the leader of her opposition? Zechs snorts disgustedly. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

He had no notion as to what fate had befallen her via the hands of the people she had once pretended to serve. When she took her vows did those words justice, honour and peace, where they such cheap words in her vocabulary that even the lowliest of crimes could be seen as righteous when attached where these words? I don't think that any shall ever find their answers from her forthcoming. Our little seraph might be able to conjure up some responses from her… but only if his feeble attachments to this world remain. Many are still unsure as to whether he will survive. Brave Brother, Golden Child, those three words along with love where what you also embodied, as young child, as we, the world watched, and you, a child, walked forward.

So… what did you think eh? Good? Yes? More? *silence* HEY!!!!!! So yes anyway… if you've come this far please review. ^-^ Thankyou


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